She settled herself back in the armchair and said earnestly, “Dear boy, some of them are even older than that! You have no idea. I feel like a spring chicken when I go there—such a delightful feeling. But even though some of them are ancient—positively antediluvian, I do assure you—they still ogle any passably good-looking man without the least shred of shame.” She gave him a mischievous smile. “Quite heartening, really.”
“Heartening?” He finished winding up a stray ball of wool that had rolled under the settee and handed it to her.
She nodded. “To think that sort of thing lasts. Aging is so much less to be dreaded when you see that even ancient crones can still flirt, and think about...you know. And possibly evendoit, as well.”
Cal blinked.You know? Do it?No—he wouldn’t ask. It wasn’t the sort of conversation he expected—or wanted—from his elderly spinster aunt. In a blatant bid to change the subject, he asked, “Where are the girls?”
There was a short silence. Seeming not to have heard his question, Aunt Dottie frowned over her knitting. The door opened and he looked up, half expecting his sisters, but it was only Logan, carrying a tray.
“Ah, there you are, Logan,” Aunt Dottie exclaimed in what almost sounded like relief. “Food for my nephew, is it? Excellent! You must be famished, Cal dear.”
Logan set the tray down on a small table close to Cal. The tray contained a plate of hearty-looking sandwiches, a wedge of pie and a tankard of ale.
“Eat up, eat up, dear boy,” Aunt Dottie urged.
Cal took a mouthful of ale and picked up a sandwich. “Where are Rose and Lily, Aunt Dottie?”
Again there was a short silence. He took a bite from his sandwich, glanced up and caught his aunt exchanging a silent, panicked glance with Logan.
Something was up. Cal finished the sandwich and waited.
“They’re asleep,” Logan said after a moment.
“Yes, that’s it! Asleep,” Aunt Dottie agreed, adding quickly, “Upstairs. In their bedchambers. Fast asleep. We won’t disturb them. You’ll see them at breakfast in the morning. Thank you, Logan dear. That will be all.” Logan left.
Cal looked at his aunt. “Logandear?” he queried. “Aunt Dottie, you really shouldn’t call your butlerdear.”
“Oh, pooh, why not?”
“Because he’s your butler.”
“Nonsense! Logan has been my friend since I was fifteen years old. My father is dead, and now your father is dead as well, so there is nobody left to make a fuss—you won’t be stuffy about it, will you, Cal? Because if I want to call himdear, I will.”
Cal blinked. Aunt Dottie had always been an original. Now it seemed she was becoming a little eccentric. She sat there placidly knitting, a little smile on her face. Was his supposedly guileless little aunt trying to distract him from the issue at hand?
“So,” he said. “My sisters are fast asleep at”—he glanced pointedly at the clock on the overmantel—“half past seven?”
“Oh, bother, I’ve dropped a stitch.”
He waited while she fiddled with her knitting, her cheeks suddenly rosy.
“Well?” he prompted after a minute.
“If we’d known you were going to arrive tonight, of course they would have waited up,” Aunt Dottie said, avoiding his gaze. “But the poor dears were yawning, and barely able to stay awake, so of course I sent them off to bedimmediately after we’d finished eating. They were soverytired. Poor Lily almost fell asleep in her soup! And yawning, oh, my goodness, such yawning.”
She set aside her knitting. “In fact, I’m feeling rather tired myself.” She stretched artistically and gave an unconvincing yawn. “Oh, dear me, yes, I’m afraid I’m quite ready for my bed. In fact I think, if you don’t mind, Cal dearest, I’ll go up to bed myself because”—she essayed another fake yawn—“I’m suddenly very,verytired. Old age, you know.”
She had to be the worst liar he’d ever met.
Cal set down his tankard of ale. “Now, Aunt Dottie, why don’t you tell me what’s really going on? Where are my sisters?”
Chapter Two
What hath night to do with sleep?
—JOHN MILTON,COMUS
With a guilty look, Aunt Dottie sat back in her chair and waited, her hands folded in her lap like a child expecting a scolding. “I’m not precisely sure,” she admitted.
